A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
"No, no!" shouted Draco. "No! Stop, you're KILLING me here! HA HA HA HAAAA!"
Continued Peeves, who was way past being peeved - he was livid. "Then if Ron works for the ministry he had better do so and decrease the surplus student population at Hogwarts."
"Oh Peeves! I did say something like last week, didn't I? HAHAHA! Damn, me but I'm a hoot!" laughed Draco.
Stab Four: The Last of the Spirits
The ghost floated towards Draco, its long black flowing gowns smelling of graveyard soil, moldy dead bodies and peppermint scented foot powder. The face of the phantom was hidden by a hood from which emitted frosty breath like unto the last breath of a new made corpse.
The spirit held out a finger at Draco.
"Holy Hufflepuff spittle spirit! You are the spirit I dread the most!" whimpered Draco.
The spirit held out a second finger and scraped it along the first, making the unmistakable sign of 'shame, shame, I know your name'.
"Crikey, spirit," said Draco. "Let's get this third rate fan fic over with! Lead me on!"
The spirit moved away from Draco, and floated through the dorm room door and did not cease its floating until it arrived at a painting of a Fat Lady dressed in pink. The spirit and Draco, close behind, floated into Gryffindor Commons.
At a table by the fireplace sat Harry Potter, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas.
"When did the git die?" inquired Dean.
"Last night I understand," said Seamus. "Hey, did I tell you this joke yet? Why couldn't the Slytherin blonde make ice cubes? He forgot the recipe!"
The three boys laughed and slapped their knees.
"Oi," said Harry, "What do you call a blonde Slytherin with half a brain? Gifted!"
Harry and the other boys burst into further gales of derisive laugher.
"Spirit, asked Draco in an annoyed drawl. "What is this all about? I have to get up early tomorrow. There are girls to pinch and inferiors like these Gryffindor gits to insult. Do we have to watch these pitiful twats swapping inane blonde jokes?"
The spirit slapped its forehead in annoyance and pointed to Harry, Seamus and Dean.
"What'd the git die of anyway?" inquired Dean. " Hey, maybe he died because he drank milk... And the cow sat down!"
The boys laughed so hard they were snorting.
"What happened to the little shite's money? " asked Harry.
"Who knows. Probably left it to buy the Slytherin team all new racing 'Big Flippin' 1000 Special-arse broomsticks'," said Seamus wheezing because he'd laughed so hard. "How do you give a blonde Slytherin a brain transplant ... blow in his ear!"
"But he had enough money to leave all of the Quidditch teams in the world brand new racing broomsticks. Hey, here's another one... How do you get a blonde to laugh on Monday? Tell him a joke on Friday!"
Draco looked at the Spirit. "And this is so damned important for me to hear because...? And who is the wise, rich and most likely highly attractive poor soul of whom these gits speak?"
"Well," said Harry, wiping tears of laugher from his green eyes. "It's likely to be a cheap funeral, because his father is such a damned tightwad and muggle bigot. Doesn't matter though. I don't know anyone who will go."
"Well someone has to go," said Seamus. "I don't mind going if a lunch, two thousand Galleons, a Firebolt 4000 racing broomstick and a big fat kiss on my lily-white Irish arse are provided."
"Say," said Dean, "Why did the blonde Slytherin wash his hair in the sink? That is where you clean all the vegetables!"
The boys laughed, and laughed and laughed.
"Oh, heavens that's funny," said Potter. "You know I haven't told you how he died yet."
"Oh, well I know," said Seamus. "Sad really. Some prat glued a galleon on the bottom of the Prefect's pool and the git wouldn't give up trying to fetch it out and he drowned!"
"This is really in poor taste spirit," drawled Draco with annoyance. "And I'm missing on my beauty sleep. Can't we go some place else? Maybe there's someone that actually gives a rat's bum about this incredibly interesting dead fellow? Hum? Perhaps?" Draco abruptly turned 180 degrees and flipped his right thumb over his back and walked off as though he had a stick up his... but that is another scene from HP COS, you know, the wizard's duel? No? Hum? Perhaps? This ringing a bell yet?
The spirit followed Draco up the steps that lead to the Gryffindor girls dorms. Draco and the spirit stopped to stare in one room with a cracked door, behind which a buxom seventh year Gryffindor witch was disrobing in preparation for going to bed.
"But spirit, you are dead. Why is this incredibly hot bodied bird of interest to you?"
The spirit pulled off its hood, revealing a specter that strongly resembled Professor Snape. "Because you dunderheaded oaf, there's 'dead' and there's 'dead'."
"Professor Snape?"
"No, Professor Severus Snape's long dead twin brother, Professor Snip. Now shut up and come along."
"You think they'd have had time to wash their greasy black hair in the afterlife. I mean, really!" said Draco.
They floated through a dorm door. There seated with solemn face was Hermione Granger. The solitary girl wiped a tear from her eye with a handkerchief. She sat at a desk and turned the pages of a large book. Draco and the spirit moved behind the girl and read over her shoulder.
Dear Diary,
That feckin' albino git had the nerve to call me a mudblood again today. God I hate that little shite. He makes me angrier than runs in my tights and lumps in my porridge or Ron Weasley when he sits looking all cow eyed at me but won't ask me to the freakin' Yule ball.
Hermione turned the page, and took a minute to blow her nose. Tears streamed down her face.
Dear Diary,
That blonde arse-hole made a horrid comment about poor Hagrid today. I slapped the little prat so hard the blonde fell off his hair. I hate him more than I hate eating eggs with the yolks all runny. I hate him more than I hate Ron Weasley when I go to study in the library and he makes stupid comments about how I need to get a life.
Hermione burst into sobs that lasted for several minutes and turned the page of her diary again.
Dear Diary,
That sawed off bit of grey-eyed rubbish had the nerve to call me a bodacious babe and copped a feel as I was passing him in the hall on the way to Transformation class. Ok, well today he wasn't so bad. But I'm still really hacked off at that annoying Ron Weasley.
Now Hermione began to cry as though her entire world had crumbled. The diary slid to the floor with a loud noise.
"So, she must have repented her ill feelings towards whoever that tasteful blonde, grey eyed fellow was and now she is to suffer unrequited love for the remainder of her miserable days which she will undoubtedly spend as a virgin spinster librarian. Is this the tenderness that I asked to see then?" said Draco looking to the specter.
"Oh, why! Oh why!" Shouted Hermione, sounding beyond comfort. "Why? If I'd acted faster, I could have been the one to kill the little shite, but NO! I had to play by the freakin' rules! Someone else had the immeasurable pleasure of gluing that Galleon to the bottom of the Prefect's bath and killing the little blonde arse-hole!" Hermione ran to her four -poster and threw herself down upon it, crying as though her heart would break. "Come to think of it," said the girl stopping her tears for a minute. "I still have time to be the one who gets to kill Ron Weasley."
"The mudblood's mental," drawled Draco. "I could have told you that."
The dorm room disappeared around them. Draco and the spirit apparated in the midst of the Weasley living room back at the Burrow. Molly Weasley sat in understuffed comfy chair. There was a knock at the door. "Come in damn it you big prat, too lazy to open the door for yourself, I swear, if I had an Knut for every stupid thing you do..."
Entered Mr. Arthur Weasley. He unwrapped a threadbare scarf from his neck and said, "I walked there today Molly, my so-called 'good wife'. It did me good to see what a lovely place it is. The lawns green, the flowers growing bright even in the midst of this wretched winter weather." Mr. Weasley burst into tears and sobbed into a corner of his raggedy scarf.
"Now there, there Arthur," said Molly. "What good are tears? If our Tiny Ron couldn't get a job at that nice posh Quidditch club then we'll just have to be happy he got that position with the Chudley Cannons. Don't pay as much but every Knut helps. And his work is honorable, and he learned it at Hogwarts."
"But Molly," sobbed Arthur. "Our Ron is emptying and polishing bedpans, true he learned the trade well, him having polished the infirmary bedpans the hundreds of times he got detention, but..."
"Now Arthur, don't take on so," said Molly. "But no use crying over spilt spittlebeer."
"Molly, if only Tiny Ron could have practiced on a decent racing broom, instead of that piece of second hand crap we purchased for him," Mr. Weasley pointed to a broken racing broom by the fireplace. "If only that were a decent racing broom then Ron might have been somebody! He could have been a contender!" Mr. Weasley burst into tears again and sobbed pitifully.
"Oh for crying out loud," fussed Draco. I've had it. I want to go home. These raggedy arse Weasleys don't care about whomever it was that died. I certainly have no idea who the wealthy, grey eyed blonde with a tightwad, muggle and mudblood hating father, who is unpopular with all the Gryffindors, hated by Hermione Granger and... hey...hang on!"
"Well, DUH!" said the specter. The Burrow disappeared and Draco and the specter stood in a graveyard. The black hooded spirit led Draco to a grave with fresh soil heaped upon it and to a large elaborate white gravestone carved of the finest marble.
"Oh dreadful apparition," said Draco, on the verge of a' wetting himself.
The spirit pointed again to the gravestone.
Draco walked around the gravestone and read the wording.
DARCO MAYFLO
R.I.P.
1981 - 1996
"Whew! It isn't me anyway," said Draco.
The spector slapped its forehead at the incompetence of labor nowadays, and pulled out a wand. One swish and flick later, the lettering on the gravestone rearranged itself to read.
DRACO MALFOY
R.I.P.
1981 - 1996
Draco threw himself at the feet of the specter. "Oh annoying and greasy haired apparition, tell me I can change the course of my life and have some unpaid house-elf sponge away the lettering on this incredibly beautiful and expensive gravestone, and Bob's your uncle, I shall do so! Or I'll give it a shot anyway. So what do you say? Can I? Huh? Is that at all possible, hum?"
The spector threw off its hood and looked at Draco. "You cheated on the Potions section of your O.W.L.s exam didn't you, you little..."
"No one saw me, you can't prove a thing..."shouted Draco, as the world went black around him.
Home
Page 5
Send E-Mail to: dumbledore1900@yahoo.com
Copyright © 2002 . All Rights Reserved